


I Am More Than Memory

by wuffen



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Angst, Dissociative Amnesia, Hallucinations, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, PTSD, Post-Movie(s), Suicide, Unreliable Narrator, parental abandonment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:30:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5194004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuffen/pseuds/wuffen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment he'd close his eyes the flames would engulf him and he would hear that frantic but oh so sweet voice calling him, “Professor Callaghan!” it screamed, and just as the flames exploded into an inferno around him he could see a glimpse of that sweet, sweet face, see it burn and distort and the light in those eyes like starlight blinking and disappearing forever. It was hell. Nights were hell.</p><p>And hell was exactly where he was supposed to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am More Than Memory

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing but it is horrible, I am in pain, and I need to be stopped.

Prison didn't feel like a punishment.

How could a lifetime in limbo possibly mend what he had broken – it couldn't bring back the dead, it couldn't reverse time, and he was alive, still inexplicably breathing, his heart beating, even if it was in a thousand little pieces that no longer fit together. Not that it mattered. But prison felt like a favor, one that he didn't ask for, because here he didn't need to face the people whose lives he had ruined, he existed in isolation from the real world where his crime had taken place. And he didn't deserve that, he didn't want that, the least he could do was to suffer as much as his body could take, and then some.

In prison his days were stagnant and silent, emotionless. He would eat and read and walk around the yard and do whatever was asked of him. He wasn't trouble, he wasn't anything.

Nights were his only solace. The moment he'd close his eyes the flames would engulf him and he would hear that frantic but oh so sweet voice calling him, “Professor Callaghan!” it screamed, and just as the flames exploded into an inferno around him he could see a glimpse of that sweet, sweet face, see it burn and distort and the light in those eyes like starlight blinking and disappearing forever. It was hell. Nights were hell.

And hell was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Every morning when he opened his eyes a little bit more of him was lost in the flames, a little bit less still breathing, and he could hardly wait for the moment when all of him would be gone, the remnants of his sanity burnt to a crisp and buried next to the lover that would never be.

Because of course Tadashi was never his. He killed him before he could touch him, another tragic metaphor of his failings, albeit one that took a dramatically literal turn. He would've laughed if the wound hadn't been so fresh, and Tadashi so dead.

\--

That morning Robert awoke in a violent jerk with tears running down his face, his pillow damp and disgusting, the fire behind his eyelids still scorching the blurry edges of his vision. The same as always. As he sat up and rubbed the embers off his eyelashes he searched for whatever part of him had been lost that night, and was pleased to find himself once again another ounce emptier. Another piece of him was burning, with _him_. Good.

Steadying his breathing and letting all emotion flow out of him until only numbness remained he slowly raised his head to look at the calendar that was pinned to the wall across from his bed. He would rather not have had such a thing, he would've preferred losing all sense of time, but his cellmate enthusiastically crossed over each day awaiting the end of his sentence, and Robert wasn't trouble, he wasn't anything, so he wasn't going to act on any desire of his own.

The calendar showed it was Wednesday, October 3rd. The first Wednesday of the month. Abigail's day.

He resisted the urge to groan. Robert knew he loved Abigail, he did, or at least he used to love her, back when he was still human. Now though, now Abigail was guilt, Abigail was tainted happiness, Abigail was past and present that he did not deserve. It wasn't her fault of course, Robert had renounced his humanity on his own volition that night in the fire, when Abigail was gone and Tadashi was lost and there was nothing left to love in the world and it was all his own doing.

The guilt was the worst part. When he tried to remember Abigail's face he could only see Tadashi. That moment in the burning building, when he was consumed by his thirst for revenge, his primal need to avenge his daughter – and suddenly there he was, the boy with the brilliant mind and sparkling eyes and promise on his lips, coming for him, and Robert couldn't save him, and it was like his brain was completely rewired in that one blink of an eye, Abigail disappearing and Tadashi with flames reflected in his eyes taking over every corner of his mind.

After the fire he had to find Abigail again, because if he had given in he would have crumbled to the ground. Because Abigail he could avenge, but Tadashi, Tadashi was dead by his hand. So he let go of his heart and channeled his anger into destroying Krei, because there was nothing else he could've done, and he had to destroy something real and tangible, and Krei deserved it. But as soon as Tadashi's brother brought Abigail back from beyond the portal, Robert's ruse fell apart, and the fire from that night was reignited in his head and only Tadashi's burning form was real.

And that was cruel to Abigail. Abigail deserved a father, even if that father was a murderer, but Robert couldn't be there for her, fathers are human and when Robert wasn't just emptiness he was ash and fire and darkness.

\--

By noon Robert had cleared his mind once more, and when one of the guards informed him that his visitor had arrived he was ready.

The woman behind the glass looked like a stranger, as she did every month. Robert knew it was Abigail, but he wouldn't recognize her in a crowd even if his life depended on it. There was no longer room in his head for her face, and while Robert himself realized it was unfair to her there was nothing he could do about it -- nor did he particularly want to, since he didn't have the right to have a daughter in the first place. Nevertheless there she was, looking at him with a vaguely familiar smile on her lips.

"You look tired, are you having trouble sleeping? Because I can ask them to get you some sleeping pills." There was concern in her voice, but he couldn't tell if it was sincere. He hoped not. She shouldn't waste her emotions on him.

"I'm fine. Everything is fine."

"No but really, you look like a mess." Her smile seemed to falter as she spoke.

"I'm in prison, that's all there is to it."

There was a moment of silence, and Abigail averted her eyes. The seconds seemed to crawl by like years. Robert wanted to get away from her, he wanted to stop talking, he needed to not be anything. Of course what he wanted or needed didn't matter to him, and uncomfortable was how he was supposed to be.

Finally she spoke again, softly this time.

"I went to the Hamada boy's grave last week."

Robert's chest grew tight for an instant, but the familiar emptiness took over before he could say a word.

"His brother was there. Hiro, you remember him."

He didn't feel anything.

"I do." _I tried to kill him too,_ he added silently.

"He graduated last spring, you know, the top of his class. In and out of university in three years, he's incredible." There was fondness in her tone, not that it surprised him. The kid did save her life, after all.

"He-- I thought I would bring him here next time. He said he'd like to talk to you. Something about closure." 

Nothing. He felt nothing.

"So if you could sign the paperwork to get him through, that would be good."

"Sure." Robert didn't really care, but maybe seeing Hiro would hurt him, maybe the boy wanted to punish him, with whatever means available. The odds were in his favor.

He wondered if he should ask her about her life, what she had been doing, how was work and so forth. But he couldn't remember what she had already told him, he couldn't even remember where she worked, because obviously it couldn't be with Krei, but no new information seemed to stick to his memory anymore.

"Father."

Abigail's voice interrupted his thoughts. With a soft hum he met her eyes.

"I've been meaning to ask you, do you-- Ah, do you remember my face?"

At the beginning Robert had still felt remorse for abandoning her, even if he had no choice in the matter. The first time she visited him he had to ask her who she was, and after that she would announce herself at the beginning of each visit, until Robert had convinced her that he remembered that he had a daughter named Abigail, and Abigail visited on the first Wednesday of each month, so he could tell who she was even if he didn't recognize her.

She had probably hoped he'd get over whatever it was that blurred her features in his mind, but nothing had changed in three years. As he looked at her now, he could see the pain strewn across her face, and knew there was nothing he could do.

This was why Abigail was guilt.

"No. I'm sorry."

She seemed to crumble then, her hand instinctively rising to cover her eyes. Had Robert been human he would've cried with her, but as he was not, he simply sat silently, listening to her shaky sobs through the speaker and watching her shoulders tremble on the other side of the tempered glass.

“I'm sorry”, he repeated quietly. “I still love you. Or your father, he still loves you. Who or what I am, I cannot say.”

Slowly her breathing became more regular, and she looked at him once more. Her eyes were bloodshot, her lashes bunched into wet clumps. She still looked beautiful, or even more so, the blue of her irises amplified. This must've been a fatherly feeling, looking at his crying child and finding her beautiful. And electing to use the word 'child' when referring to her. The woman was in her 30s. Maybe he could afford that much emotion, in this moment, for her.

“You know they say that a child's worst nightmare is their parent not recognizing them.” She finished the sentence with a soft laugh, her voice still weak from crying. “I think I believe them.”

“I'm sorry”, he said again. He didn't really know what else to say.

“I've spoken with your psychiatrist, I know it's not something you can help. We just have to hope that the work you do with her will bring you back.” Her voice grew cold as she spoke, like it was a line she had said a hundred times, enough for it to lose its meaning. Maybe it was. Robert wouldn't remember either way.

Abigail rose to her feet. “I need to go. I'll see you in November. I'll bring Hiro.”

\--

Fire.

He had started it, just a few minutes ago, careful to make it untraceable, like it was caused by a malfunctioning amplifier at the back of the showcase, purely coincidental. He had made sure most of the visitors and potential new students had left the building, and he had chosen a starting point that would give ample time for whoever was still lingering in the hall to get out of the way. This may not have been his proudest moment, literally stealing from a child while committing arson, but he'd still rather not add manslaughter to his list of regrets.

And it was all going according to plan, the alarms were screaming (not that they were actually alarming the fire brigade, he had made sure of that) and the hall was empty. Breathing was getting difficult because of the smoke and poisonous gases spat out by the flames, but he still had some time.

Time enough to rush to Hiro Hamada's microbots and press the neurotransmitter headband tightly against his temples. Somehow the feel of the still cool metal against his skin in the rapidly rising temperature of the air around him seemed to encourage him, like its soothing touch was proof that what he was doing was right.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. Soon he could hear the metallic chimes of the tiny robots, mixed with the crackling of the fire, as they started to form a cocoon around him to shield him from danger. The air was getting so thick with smoke he feared he might lose consciousness, so he opted to hold his breath as the microbots continued to gather and shift. The air already felt a little bit cooler. He was going to make it.

And then he heard it. It was faint at first, and he was ready to dismiss it as the adrenaline playing tricks on his ears.

But then he heard it again, louder this time. He would recognize that voice anywhere, he had heard it almost daily for the past two years and on the days he hadn't heard it he had imagined it, dreamed it whispering his name.

“Professor Callaghan!”

His eyes snapped open and he drew his aching lungs full of the poisonous air, the mass of microbots pulsating in frantic patterns as he searched for the source of the cries. The smoke was in his eyes and he could hardly see two feet in front of him, but he needed to find the source, it was _him_ , he needed to find _him._

“TADASHI!” he screamed into the chaos, his throat raw from the gases burning his lungs. “TADASHI! HERE!”

“Professor!”

And there he was. His hair was glued to his forehead soaked with sweat, his clothes turned black by the fumes and ash surrounding them, his skin red and glistening. He was still beautiful, even through the tears in Robert's stinging eyes, there in the middle of a raging storm.

“You're all right!” The relief in Tadashi's voice made his stomach lurch in a way that would've made him giddy as a school boy in any situation but this.

Robert immediately reached out his hand, stretched his arm towards the boy so violently that he feared he might dislocate his shoulder, as if that could somehow urge on the surge of microbots that flew through the air with a burning determination to _protect him, oh dear god just protect him_ , and every fibre of his being was concentrating on that single action because _no he couldn't lose Tadashi, not after Abigail, Tadashi was everything and he didn't even know it yet, Tadashi was everything--_

These crackles were different, he noticed at once. This was power concentrating, ready to explode. But Tadashi was so close, just a few more steps, he would make it, he would definitely make it, just a little bit more!

“HURRY!” Robert wailed, and Tadashi was running, and the microbots were flying and gliding and this would work, they would both be safe, and he would get them out, there was still time.

The explosion was silent.

The sound of burning and his own voice, and _his_ voice, it all died in an instant. He was probably screaming Tadashi's name, but he couldn't hear it, he only saw the light as it engulfed the graceful form of the boy coming for him, and in that moment he couldn't feel anything, he was watching it all happen like it was a movie on a screen, because of course it couldn't be real.

Some part of his brain still must have been functioning, because as the light flashed and took everything from him the microbots were around him, and the air cooled and the smoke cleared and suddenly he was outside in the warm spring night and time had stopped and his body was alive but Robert Callaghan was dead.

\--

“Have you noticed that every time you relate that experience, you describe your emotional response to Tadashi Hamada in greater detail?”

The ward psychiatrist was sitting behind her desk, clearly not taking notes or doing much anything except watching Robert intently. They had these sessions twice a week, although apparently she would've preferred them to be more frequent. He had a hard time remembering all the fancy names for his so called symptoms she had written in her assessments, but since he was hardly looking for that kind of validation he didn't really mind.

“I have not”, he answered, truthfully. He had no idea how he had worded the story before, quite frankly he didn't even remember how many times he had told it. Not every time, but many times. That was about as accurate an estimation as he was capable of producing.

“Well, you do”, she adjusted her glasses before continuing, “Today's height was 'Tadashi was everything', which I don't believe I've heard you say before. Any thoughts on that?”

Had he said that? Probably. It was true, anyway. Speaking of the fire seemed to trigger something in him, and he had neither ability nor wish to control the words flowing out of him. Like when the light flashed and Tadashi was gone, his body would function but he wasn't in control, just looking from the side with disinterest.

“He _was_ everything.”

“How so? You did not have a sexual relationship with him, nor a romantic one. Unless you have been lying to me. How was he everything?”

Robert couldn't answer. These emotions were for the nights, when they'd burn and hurt him the most. It was still daytime, he had no intention of describing the obvious divinity of Tadashi to this woman who would not understand or even punish him for it, but would instead just listen with an occasional condescending nod of her head, all neutral acceptance and impartial facade.

“You did not have a relationship with him beyond that of a teacher and a student, did you?”

“I did not.” Saying it out loud made the emptiness in him echo.

Realizing she wasn't going to get anything more out of him she took off her glasses and gently set them down on the table and sighed.

“I know I tell you this every time, but there are many inconsistencies between the different versions you have told me of this story. What we are doing here is trying to find out what actually happened, and I would be lying if I told you I felt like we were making progress.”

There was a mild desperation in her eyes, and some of it managed to seep into her tone of voice.

“I'm afraid you are constructing the events of that night to be more elaborate, more intentional, and more malicious than they actually were in order to punish yourself for inadvertently causing the death of a student you were fond of. For this treatment to be successful, I need you to want to feel better, not worse.”

Had he been a mean man he would have questioned her credentials, but as he wasn't anything he wasn't mean or a man. So he said nothing.

She looked at him for a full minute with an exasperated look on her face, awaiting any kind of response, and when she got none she finally averted her gaze and waved her hand dismissively.

“We are done for today. I will see you next week.”

\--

The dream was different, he knew at once.

It all felt familiar, the hell he loved and yearned for, the raging fire -- but there was no heat. The air was stagnant, no smoke blurred his vision, and the flames made no sound.

And there was _space_.

He could feel his feet on the ground, there _was_ a ground, he _had feet_ , he had a body. He looked around him, expecting to see the showcase hall, but instead he found himself on a vast field of fire, the orange and yellow glow of the flames painting the sky red. He tried to take a step, but his feet wouldn't move.

Suddenly he realized he was crying. Small trails of steam were rising from where the teardrops hit the ground, and the sight mesmerized him. This was... odd. His nights were intense, they were pain, physical pain, rage and despair, his nights were death. And this was... not. This was calm. Everything was burning, but it was calm.

Then in struck him. He tore his eyes from the ground and looked around frantically, his lips parting involuntarily to utter _his_ name.

“Tadashi!”

There was only fire as far as the eye could see.

“TADASHI!”

He could've sworn there was a hand on his shoulder then, applying gentle pressure as though trying to make him lean down, and he did, but as he turned his head to look there was no one there.

But there was the distinct sensation of a hesitant breath against his ear, and the sound of the whisper he had never heard but so often imagined, the deep voice so rich in emotion barely audible--

“I've come to save you, Professor.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tags are out of control for the first chapter but uh. It's gonna get worse. So. Better be prepared, right?
> 
> If Kids These Days was me projecting all my school boy giddiness and lust for Callaghan onto Tadashi this is me projecting all my suicidal self-destructive thought patterns onto Callaghan. I'm sorry.


End file.
